


The Dreams That Hunt Us

by TheIceDragons



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, F/M, Guilt, Hunting Dreams, Other, R plus L equals J, Robert's Rebellion, the truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:24:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIceDragons/pseuds/TheIceDragons
Summary: Ned Stark has dreams that hunt him.





	The Dreams That Hunt Us

Every night he had the same dream. One moment he was in a deep dark slumber in the abyss of his mind and the next he was haunted with ghost of his conscious. 

 

All the men he slayed on the battlefield during Robert's Rebellion. All the men who fought for him, sacrificed their lives for his cause and never made it to the end to return to their families. Never again to hold their children or lay with their wives. 

 

He dreamt of Brandon. Not the Brandon that was full of life and joy, the one who was Rickard Stark’s first son, the one who was heir to Winterfell, the one who would jest and smile easily. No, the one who was meeting his brutal end. The one who strangled himself to _ death _ trying to rescue their father. 

 

He dreamt of his father. Marching in the Red Keep only to meet his doom from the Mad King. He dreamt of his skin bubbling and melting. His screams of agony and terror as he is melted alive in his steel armor.

 

And he dreamt of  _ her _ . It always led back to  _ her _ . Lying in a bed of blood. Her clammy pale hands   gripping winter roses. Barely clinging to life begging him for a promise that will sit heavy on his heart for the rest of his days. ' **_Promise me_ ** ' she always said. ‘ **_Promise me, Ned_ ** ’

 

And where was  _ he _ ? Where was Ned? When his brother and father were ruthlessly murdered. When his sister was whisked away by the silver prince.

 

He should have done all in his power to stop Brandon. Should have told him to know better; That Lyanna would never let herself get taken away, not unwillingly. From her home, her family. Not without a fight, someone would have heard or saw. Lyanna was a  _ willful _ woman, a  _ strong _ woman. She wouldn't have made it easy.

 

In truth, he knew all along. From the very beginning. He saw how she shed tears when Rhaegar played his harp. How entranced she was with the sad melancholy tone, how she clung onto every word that was sung  by the Prince of Dragonstone. He saw how it took everything in her, to hold back her smile when the prince crowned her as the queen of love and beauty, when everyone else’s smiles died away. And he saw how she always fought back a grimace when Robert would try to hold her hand or asked for a dance or tried to start a conversation with her and he would smell of ale and wine.  _ Dreaded  _ her wedding day as it drew closer, before, for the first time,  _ she took her faith into her own hands. _

 

He always wondered if Robert ever saw it but just ignored. Rather ignore it then believe his precious little she-wolf loved another, that she'd rather run away and bring the entire realm into war before marrying him.

 

When they had first received the raven that brought news of his sister's abduction, he knew he had the right of it, deep down inside. But what about Robert? His _ lifelong _ friend, the one who he  _ loved _ like a brother? Who he was  _ raised _ in the Eyrie with? How could he voice that thought to him? Tell him that his sister never wanted him and couldn't be convinced to? It would have broken him. Broken their friendship. But now, after everything had been done, he knew he should have. Damn Roberts pride, if thousands of lives could have been spared. His families lives. The lives of every men that died on the field, on both sides, who'd never see their loved ones again over one man's damaged pride, who was fuelled with bloodlust because of it. A man who didn't lose anything, even if he felt he had, when Ned was the one who  _ truly _ lost everyone. 

 

Elia who was so  _ delicate _ and  _ frail _ , her children who were not but _ babes _ in a crib. Who payed for crimes with  _ their lives _ , in which they did not commit.

 

They had haunted his dreams aswell. Their mangled corpses laid at the feet of Robert, with the fabric of crimson and gold of Lannister atop of them. The way Robert had smiled over Elia’s split body, Aegon's bashed head no bigger than his own palm, and Rhaenys little body filled with holes. That smile would hunt his dreams to.

 

The dreams would always begin at the tower. The dornish sun boiling his northern blood. A sea of sand as far as the eye could see. The red mountains looming over the land. And they'd be there. All the men he had sent to their deaths to rescue his sister that never really needed saving to begin with. Howland Reed, William Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull and Ser Mark Ryswell had come for his aid.  Only himself and Howland Reed survived, when it had happened.  But in his dream they were all there.  With slit throats and stab wounds, they would stare at him with accusing eyes.  ‘Why?’ they would say. ‘You knew the truth, so why?’.  ‘I didn't know!’ Ned would say. ‘ It's not my fault, I didn't know’.  He would sink to his knees on the hot sand, tears dripping from his eyes as he mourned and wept for his fallen men. Men that he led to death, over a lie that would last for generations, when their deaths took mere seconds. Good men who fought bravely to see another day, and never made it to that day. Man who had families, wives, perhaps even newborn babes that they would never hold. All because of Lyannas willfulness, Rhaegar’s charm, Brandon's recklessness, Rickards honor, Roberts hurt pride, Aerys madness and Ned’s…

 

Then a scream would rip through the air, and all heads would turn toward the tower that was named after joy but did not live up to its namesake.  Another shriek would pierce through the sky for all the heavens to hear.  He would rise to his feet, ‘It is  _ her _ ’ he would think, or perhaps mummer, he wasn't sure. It was a dream after all,  _ right _ ? 

 

He would push through them, his companions that were long gone. He could smell their rotten flesh, the air thick with the stench of iron.  They would grab at him and pull on his arms and legs.  He felt as if he would rip apart and yet he endured and pushed forward.  Nothing would keep him from getting to her, for all her faults nothing would make him relent and give up on his beloved sister, Lyanna.  Even after she had been dead for years, even in this sick dream that he couldn't pull himself from.  But he could pull from them, even as they lay the blame of their deaths at his feet.  And push he did, forward he went, resilient as ever. ‘Only for her’ he would think ‘Only ever for her‘.  He’d race up the steps of the tower, and he’d feel as if he flew. Flew, right up until he faced someone. Someone who was the only barrier between him and his sister. Someone who he onced looked up to, who he honored, who he and every boy in the Seven Kingdoms could only dreamed to be. ‘Until he helped Rhaegar steal my sister’ he’d think.  The knight would seem to read his thoughts and sharp lilac would meet thundering grey as he spoke ‘Steal? I didn't steal anyone. You knew.  Deep down you knew and know your men know as well. I didn't steal anyone.’ His voice was hard and firm like steel, and cool enough to calm the storm raging inside his Stark grey eyes.  And for a moment, he’d feel like a boy again.  A boy of four and ten, a green boy who knew nothing of death, who had not nearly kissed it in each battle he had fought, who never knew a woman’s gentle touch.  But then he’d remember.  Remember the men who he swung his steel upon, the deadly dance he danced for the song of war, Cat and her auburn hair and blue eyes. Her soft skin. It’d all seem to flash before his eyes before he lunged at the knight.  Suddenly there’d be a sword in his hand, Dawn, he knew.  It was forever burned into his memory. Blood would wash over him as he’d pierce The Sword of the Morning’s abdomen and swiftly pull it out.  ‘You know what I have to do’ Ned would think darkly ‘ You know I have to do it’. The knight would be on his knees know, blood dripping from his lips, Death close by waiting for him, and yet he’d never waver. Like a mountain that would not be bent by the wind (and Ned found irony in that).  The firm and hard steel never leaving his eyes as he’d say remorsefully ‘I wish things could have been different’.  Ned would bring up the sword and with a quick motion bring it down upon the neck of one of the greatest knights Westeros had ever known. ‘As do I’ he’d respond.  

 

Then the scent would hit him. A scent he was all too familiar with. A scent of  _ winter roses _ and  _ fresh blood _ .  Much different from the sour iron stinch that lingered on his companions. This scent was sour and yet sweet at the same time.  It would feel up his nostrils as his gaze would fall upon a bed of blood and blue rose petals and his sister so weak and sickly underneath it all.  Her skin thick with sweat and sticky of blood. And he rushed to her side all the same.

 

_ ‘Ned? _ ’

 

‘Lyanna’

 

‘ _ Is that you? Is that really you? _ ’

 

She’d lift her pale clammy hand and he’d take it into his.

 

‘ _ You’re not a dream.., _ ’ she’d say.

 

‘No, I’m not a dream. I’m here. Right here.’ his grip would tighten to assure her.

 

‘ _ I’ve missed you big brother _ ’

 

Tears would pour for a second time.

‘I’ve missed you, too’ 

 

He missed her every single day. When the ghost of his father and brother and sister hung over him and Winterfell everyday.  Within every room, every corner and hall way their presence would never waver. The memory of them would strike him and he’d feel a sharp pain within his chest and remember what once was.

 

‘ _ I want to be brave _ ’

 

‘Sh. You are’

 

‘ _ I’m not _ ’ she whimpered.  **_You can only be brave when you’re afraid sweet sister._ **

 

‘ _ I don’t want to die _ ’

 

‘You’re not going to die’.  **_You are, but I wouldn't dare deny you this comfort, what little it can bring you._ **

‘ _Listen to me, Ned’_ **_You know that I will._**

 

And then she’d whisper.  Whisper betrayal and treason that Ned would devote his life to ‘Only for her’ he’d think.  She whispers a name, an ancient name, a powerful, a name that could bring death upon him if he dared to repeat it in the wrong company.   _ A royal name. _

 

‘ _ If Robert finds out, he’ll kill him, you know he will. You have to protect him.  Promise me, Ned _ ’

 

Wylla, the nurse, would rest the babe within his arms.  He’d look into the babes innocent face, a face he looked upon  _ hundreds _ of times, and yet it would feel like the first time. And he’d fall in love again, for he had Lyanna’s grey eyes and dark curly hair and Ned would know that she wasn't completely lost to the the world. That she still had a piece of her left behind.  One look upon its face and he knew he  _ couldn't  _ deny her,  _ wouldn't _ deny her or her babe.

 

‘I promise’ he’d say.

  
  


Ned awoke drenched in cold sweat, panting as if he’d ran a mile. It was still dark and most likely the hour of the wolf.  He looked around his chambers to see Cat lying next to him. Her face peaceful and content as she rested.  He pushed some of her red locks out of her face and graced him self with a smile.  Until he remembered his dream. No,  **_nightmare_ ** . He threw off his covers and pulled himself from the bed as he reached for his breeches, tunic and cloak.  He had to see him, his son.

 

He walked out of his chambers, the stone cold on his feet until he found himself a front of Jon’s chamber door. He twisted on the knob and pushed the door slightly ajar to peek in and see his son peacefully at rest.  Ned didn't want to disturb him, while he was so content in his slumber, but he had to hold him, had to see him. Ned pushed the door widely open and stepped in side. He walked to his sons bed and lifted his tiny little body into his arms. He was only five and lean besides, making him easy to carry. Jon began to groan but Ned began to soothingly rub his back as he made his way to a wooden chair to sit upon.  He looked at his son’s face. It was long like his, yet still so small and chubby.  His face covered by his long dark curly locks. He moved some out of his face to look upon it.  And he saw her.  Most people think it is Ned he takes after but if you looked hard enough it was all her. From her stormy grey eyes to her wide lips to her curly dark hair, _ her _ .

 

Ned could never seem to figure out why he was plagued with these haunting dreams. No, night terrors.  Perhaps it was the old gods seeing to it that he keep his promise. Or perhaps it was Lyanna’s way of making him remember, making sure he never forgot. ‘I have not forgotten you Lya’ he thought as he looked down at Jon’s face again ‘ _ I promise. _ ’

  
  
  


                                                                                                     The End


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